


apricity

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Post-Canon, you're basically huddling when you fuck right...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: John screws up a spell, then screws Chas.





	apricity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [readwriteandavengers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriteandavengers/gifts).



> **apricity:** the feeling of warmth from the sun in winter
> 
> cw: references to canonical child abuse

In hindsight, John can admit that he shouldn't have tried to cast the teleportation spell without all the exact ingredients. In his defense, though, what kind of translocation spell needs to differentiate between Golden Delicious apples and bloody Red Delicious ones? The apple wasn’t even a core ingredient.

Apparently, he thinks darkly as he feels a shudder pass through Chas’ body, somebody didn’t tell that to the spell. Magic can be plenty flexible, but you've got to be deliberate when you try to make it bend.

John Constantine has never been especially good at being deliberate.

So now he and Chas are trapped in a cave on a mountain somewhere with no cell service in the middle of winter in a place where that means heavy snow and frostbite, and the fault for that is lying squarely at John’s feet.

As is the fact that Chas is wasting one of his souls slowly shivering himself to death so John doesn't. He planted himself between John and the mouth of the cave when he realized they weren't getting out that way, then shoved his jacket and his hat at John.

Which John put on, because that's how their relationship works- though “works” may be a bit generous.

John has always known Chas has more loyalty than sense. Anyone else would have pissed off ages ago, told John he was a shit friend and settled down with someone deserving. (Everyone else _did_ do that, in their own way.) And Chas did try to do the same, sort of. He fell in love with Renee, and they have Geraldine, who's been the apple of Chas’ eye from the moment Renee told him she was pregnant. If he had as much sense as he has inseam, Chas would have forgotten John’s name, taken a proper cabbie job, and made himself that home he's always wanted.

But Chas has known John for a long time. Too long, really. Chas is a man of habit, and he's had years to make a habit of coming when John calls.

A better man would have let him do it. John should have made Chas quit the fight when he started up with Renee. Or when he got engaged. Or after the wedding. Or when Renee got pregnant. Or after Geraldine was born. Or during any of the hundreds of opportunities John has had to send him away.

John isn't a better man, though, and he hasn't let Chas go.

The sad part is, Chas knows all of this.

Yet here he is, shivering but quietly doing what he always does and keeping John safe. He wasn't supposed to be here, but he just had to follow John in case it turned out bad. Which it did, like most bloody things John tries to do, and of course here Chas is, trying to take the brunt of the shit.

Between the extra layer of the jacket and Chas bodily blocking the worst of the bitter wind, John is relatively comfortable. The cave is hardly ideal- it's still cold and hard and dark- but he's sure he's woken up in worse places.

In fact, with the left side of his body pressed against Chas, John is almost warm.

Chas is breathing softly now, little puffs that barely move his chest. Hypothermia can't be an easy death, but maybe Chas’ body and its tendency to heal itself have found a way to ease Chas’ dying this time.

Drawing a deep breath, John lets himself feel the anger the thought of Chas dying here builds in him.

This won't be the first death Chas has died because of John, not even close. It won't be the most gruesome or the most painful.

But it will be the most pointless.

There's nobody chasing them. No spell that requires a death or a hulking creature that needs to be fended off. They're out here because John wanted to cast a spell to see if he could get it to work, and Chas came along because he's Chas.

John loves Chas for his loyalty, but he hates Chas for it, too. John isn't strong enough to tell Chas to leave. He's a selfish prick, too interested in not being alone to be a good friend, and Chas knows it. But he’s too stubborn to leave.

So he dies.

Again and again and again, Chas dies for John. For strangers. For every damsel and bastard in distress. And he won't stop dying until he's lost every extra soul he's got in him and then his own.

It's pointlessly heroic and needlessly unpleasant- a very Chas endeavor.

Most days, John doesn't think about this. Chas will die, but only for a little while. No need to worry. He’ll be back in a bit, right as rain- probably a bit annoyed about bleeding on another shirt or losing his trousers in the morgue, but on the whole, perfectly fine. That's how it always goes.

But then there are days when John’s thoughts won't leave him be. They play out every death he's seen Chas die. They wonder at all the ways he's died when John wasn't there to witness it. They bring up every gruesome task he's asked of Chas, and they don't let him forget that Chas never says no.

They remind John that one day, maybe not far from now, Chas won't come back, and John knows better than to think they’ll wind up in the same afterlife.

It's inconvenient to be having one of those days when he can't go anywhere or do anything to escape the thoughts. He left his coat back in the Mill House, so he can't even light up.

Even worse, he's got to think about all this while he feels Chas waste one of the souls keeping him with John.

Unless…

“Mate?”

“Yeah, John?”

“What do you say we warm ourselves up a bit?”

He feels rather than sees Chas frown at him. “How?”

Well, John certainly didn't fall for Chas for his brains. (If only he had. Brains wouldn't have gotten under his skin and dug its claws in the way Chas’ unerring care did.)

So John puts his hand on Chas’ thigh- high up on it, where even Chas and his frozen brain can't mistake the signal.

“You know what they say,” he says, keeping his voice light. “You're supposed to get naked when you're cold.” Chas makes a noise- doubt, maybe- and John, hurrying forward before the knot in his throat can stop him, adds, “I've never fucked in a cave before.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

Chas is dying, and it's John’s fault.

That's usually how it goes these days. John does something stupid, Chas runs after him, and whatever monster John's found will kill Chas for a while. Then comes the resurrection.

This time, it's different.

This time, it isn't a demon that's got them cornered. Not a spirit or a ghoul or another ugly magical beast. It's just snow. Deep snow, coupled with biting cold, and the ever present specter of John’s bad decisions.

It's John’s fault that they're in this situation, after all. That's been one of the constants in Chas’ life ever since he and John met. It's not a constant he likes or wants, but it isn't likely to change- he's known John for too long to think otherwise- so Chas has resigned himself to it. Whenever trouble finds him, which it inevitably does, John is sure to be involved.

This is probably what Renee was talking about when she called John a bad influence. She didn't mean he was influencing Chas himself so much as he does the situations Chas finds himself in.

Chas can't say she was wrong.

On the scale of his deaths, hypothermia is looking like it's going to rank somewhere in the middle for unpleasantness. If only it weren’t taking so damn long, he could just die and reset, which would hopefully warm him up again, at least for a little while.

John, who has been unusually quiet, suddenly speaks up. “Mate?”

“Yeah, John?” Chas asks. He doesn't trust the way John is suddenly tense beside him, but the only way out is through, so…

“What do you say we warm ourselves up a bit?”

A hundred questions pop into Chas’ head, but he settles for the most pressing one. “How?”

John doesn't say anything at first, just lays his hand on Chas’ leg. He means it as a come on; Chas knows him too well to think otherwise. But what John means as a come on falls short of the mark because his grip is too tight.

Chas doesn't tell him that.

“You know what they say,” John replies eventually. His voice is light the way it gets when he's trying too hard to be casual. “You're supposed to get naked when you're cold.”

If he weren't so damn cold, Chas would laugh. The noise he ends up making is closer to a cough, but damn. Even for John, that is one flimsy excuse.

“I've never fucked in a cave before,” John adds a moment later, throwing subtlety out the window.

There must be a better idea, but Chas is cold and dying, and he's just as selfish as John is.

Someday, Chas is going to die for good. He won't be old, and it won't be a quiet death. But it will be the last one he gets. He’s going to leave Geraldine behind. He’ll do the same with Renee and Zed and Anne Marie and the scattered remnants of the eclectic group of friends he's gathered over the years. He's made his peace with that.

He’s going to leave John behind, too, though, and whatever the afterlife might have for him, Chas is positive the real John Constantine won't be in it.

So he’ll take what he can get of John while he can.

He lays one neatly numb hand over John’s. “You know me,” he says. “I'm always happy to be an experiment for John Constantine.”

There's no edge to his voice, but he feels John tense up, John’s brain interpreting Chas’ joke as a criticism.

Before John can extrapolate and come up with something even worse, Chas uses his free hand to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

“What are you up to?” John asks. “There's nobody we can call out here, Chas. We already tried.”

“Lucky that I'm not trying to do that, then.”

It takes him a long moment with only one clumsy hand, but Chas eventually gets the built in flashlight going.

In the stark light, John looks even shittier than usual.

Chas’ heart still clenches at the sight of him, though, and he has to remind himself to look away and put his phone on the ground on John’s far side.

“I want to see what I'm doing,” he says as he straightens back up. “I'm too old for faceless fucks in dark places.”

John’s eyes bore into him for a long moment before he nods and leans in.

Chas meets him partway. John doesn't kiss him softly or slowly- he jumps in with both feet instead, and damned if that doesn't make something in Chas’ gut curl hotly. John quickly reclaims his hand from Chas’ thigh to hold Chas’ head in place with both hands as he kisses him hard.

He kisses Chas like he's been doing it for years, doing every one of the things Chas likes when he's being kissed. John doesn't experiment; he confidently twists his fingers in Chas’ hair and gives it a tug. He crawls into Chas’ lap and takes hold of Chas’ shoulders, smiling against Chas’ lips when Chas reflexively takes hold of his hips. He pulls on Chas’ lower lip with his teeth, and Chas hears himself moan.

He puts a hand on the side of John’s neck, lets himself brush his thumb over the stubble John never seems to shave.

This time, it's John who moans.

And it's John who pulls away a second later. He's breathing hard, and in the new angle, the light makes his features sharper still.

He doesn't eat enough, never has. When they have to split up for more than a day and Chas isn't there to make sure he eats, Chas is certain John smokes instead of eating. Some of that is due to simple inattention. Some of it’s laziness. And some of it is John’s tendency to neglect himself.

He has no sense of his own worth. He doesn't reach for what he wants; he just stands back and watches, hoping it will come to him despite his certainty it won't. Chas has seen him do it hundreds of times, but seeing John make that face like he's braced for rejection before he's even asked hasn't gotten any easier.

Maybe that's why they've never managed to escape each other. John’s got a well of things he wants, and that well runs deep. And Chas has his own well, a well of things he wants to give, one deep enough that he's yet to catch sight of the bottom.

Gary used to come find Chas back when John had other friends to go out with. He’d sit next to Chas and laugh about shitty American beers, and maybe Gary wasn't anything special, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He could be good company if you found out what he was good at talking about.

He was the one who, when the group fell apart and he heard Chas was going back to the States with John, quietly told him he should learn to love a little less.

Anne Marie just shook her head and called John a prick.

Chas isn't the only person to love John, after all. He's just the one who's borne it the longest.

John pulling back drags Chas’ mind to the present.

“You’re distracted.”

Chas doesn't deny it. “I'm cold, John,” he says instead. “I thought this was supposed to warm us up.”

“Oh, you'll be plenty warm when I'm done with you,” John replies. He rolls his hips, pushing himself against Chas’ stomach, and Chas can't miss the fact that John is hard.

“You know we’re not really going to fuck here, right?” he asks.

“You think I don't have condoms? Please, love-”

“I was more concerned with lube, actually.”

John falls silent for a moment, Chas watching quietly as he mentally runs over the contents of his pockets. “Well, that's unfortunate,” John says after a long moment. “But we can make do, I'm sure.”

He doesn't let Chas ask what that means, just reels him in for another, softer kiss.

Chas lets him do it. He’ll pump the breaks if John tries to do something stupid, but for now, Chas is content to taste John’s cigarettes and ride the easy rhythm of their hips rolling against each other.

For once, John doesn't try to rush things. One of his hands wanders, but he seems content just to touch. Chas isn't about to complain about that.

Unlike John, who does get through those rolls of condoms when he's in the mood, it's been a grip since Chas kissed someone, let alone got off with them.

So the way John slowly runs his hand down Chas’ arm and bunches the fabric of Chas’ shirt when he fists it over Chas’ heart is getting Chas more worked up than it ought to.

Then John slips his hand under the back of Chas’ shirt, and even though Chas knows what's coming, he can't help the hitch in his breathing when John digs his nails in.

“Always did like it with a bit of an edge,” John says, barely an inch away. “You're not nearly as vanilla as you like people to think.”

Rather than pretend John isn't right, Chas just moves one of his own hands back and takes hold of John’s ass. The sound John makes sends a rush through Chas.

It was just fumbles in the dark when they were younger. Maybe they mean something to John; maybe they don't. Chas can't say- they've never talked about any of it. But for his part, Chas remembers each night vividly. The way John always seemed so desperate for him, the way he trembled as he rocked his hips, the way he moaned Chas’ name… It's all seared into Chas’ memory.

He's wondered if he was the first man John actually slept with, if that was why John didn’t rush things like he rushes everything else, but it's a pointless exercise. John won't tell Chas on his own, and he’d just duck the question if Chas asked.

And even if Chas were his first man- that's all it would mean.

Better to save them the discomfort of talking about it and just be glad John has let Chas have as much of him as he has.

He lets that train of thought slip away in the warmth of John’s touch, the stream of kisses that have lost the edge they had at first. Chas barely remembers he can touch John in return; he's so used to letting John lead, he forgets for a while that if he he wants to do this his own way, he can.

John’s skin is warm when Chas gets a hand under his shirt. He's only fitting his hand to John’s side, taking in the soft curves of John’s ribs.

They used to be sharper, yet another set of sharp edges of John’s for people to catch themselves on. They're rounder now, though, and Chas finds himself tracing them with his forefinger, pleased with the way John’s hands tighten their hold on him.

John lets him do it for a while before he gets impatient. “Chas,” he says, pulling back so Chas can't just tip his head and get another kiss.

“Mmm?”

“You're gonna fuck me, right?”

Resisting the urge to sigh- if he told his twenty year old self that one day, he'd want to sigh at the thought of having sex with John, Chas knows he’d get laughed at- Chas says, “That's the plan.”

“I'm only askin’ ‘cause you don't seem to want to move things along.”

“Yeah, well, I like kissing, John.”

John cocks his head, expression pinching. “Bit hard to kiss when you're frozen, you know.”

It's impossible to tell if John is being genuine or just trying to wind Chas up, and it doesn't really matter. If John wants to move things along, then that's what Chas will do.

Tightening his grip, Chas leans in for one more quick kiss, then says, “Hold tight.”

“You're a big lad, Chas, but you're hardly gonna send me flyin’-”

John shuts up when Chas flips them over.

 

_**xx** _

 

John deserved that. He was baiting Chas- poking the bear, so to speak- so he doesn't get to be surprised that Chas took a bite.

(Typical of Chas, though, that he didn't let John land hard. All that capacity for violence that lives in Chas’ chest, and John has to find a way to get it to open up and swallow him. Little aggressions, the tetchy sort that even the best of men can't help, sure. Chas will snap at him when John gets under his skin, maybe let their shoulders collide if he's in a mood and John is pushing his patience further than Chas can stand, but he’s never wanted to make John hurt.

Someday, John will figure out what it will take to get Chas to want that. Someday, he’ll figure out where the end of Chas’ rope is and what Chas will do when he reaches it.

And when he does, maybe the knot of fear in his gut will finally stop twisting him up.)

“This is new,” John says, sliding his hands down the front of Chas’ shoulders to rest on his chest. “You're not usually the domineering sort when it comes to sex. You been on the internet again?”

He expects Chas to roll his eyes or get annoyed. Instead, Chas huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, I've been trawling the forums,” he says, a smile he isn't fighting quirking one side of his lips. He removes the hand on John’s hip so he can fumble with John’s zip. “Gotta keep up with the new techniques, you know.”

The fact that until very recently he was only sleeping with Renee and therefore only needed to know how to keep her satisfied goes unspoken.

John’s petty fear that Chas will find a better, more affable lay and use some of those techniques on them does, too.

“Absolutely,” John replies approvingly, his voice coming out breathy as Chas gets John's trousers undone and gives him a stroke through his pants. “Glad to hear you're doing your due diligence. Can't have me best mate bein’ a bad shag, now can I?”

“‘Course you can't.” Chas dips his head and kisses John's neck. He starts at the base, where it's more shoulder than neck, then slowly kisses his way up. His beard scratches as he does, but the feeling only makes John cling to Chas’ shirt harder.

He doesn't fight the noises he makes as Chas kisses his way to John’s jaw and up behind his ear. He doesn't try to keep his hips still as Chas jacks him slowly. Chas must remember how John likes it, because he gets John worked up quickly, his grip perfectly tight as he uses his teeth on John's neck.

The thought of Chas remembering how John likes it is…

Well, John’s tried to remember how Chas prefers things, but it's a bit tricky when John has spent the years after their scattered rolls in the hay twisting the memories so they fit whatever want he had at the time. He's not sure which versions of events are real anymore.

John is a sure thing when it comes to sex. He’d rather be fucked well than badly, sure, but when it comes to Chas, he’d be willing to do more heavy lifting than he usually would.

(As it happens, he doesn't actually have to do any with Chas. It's no wonder people want him to stick around; if memory serves, John has never heard of anyone not being satisfied with what Chas gave them.)

Chas still hasn't properly touched John's dick this time, though, and as much as John would like to lie back and take what he knows Chas will let him have, he’s never been good at accepting scraps when the meal is right there.

“You- ah- You actually gonna fuck me sometime?” he asks.

Chas barely pauses to say, “Not without lube,” between kisses.

Which isn't unfair. John wasn't lying about Chas being big.

“There's gotta be something…”

Chas doesn't reply right away. He seems perfectly content to kiss John's neck and jerk him off.

It's certainly not _bad_ , but John would like a bit more.

“I could suck you off,” he offers.

The hand on his dick tightens for a long second, but Chas takes his time replying.

“Been a while since I did that,” he says.

“I said I'd do it, you know.”

“You don't have a monopoly on wanting to suck dick, John.”

Snorting, John makes himself let go of Chas’ shirt and reaches down for his belt. “You know, we could always-”

“If you say sixty-nine, so help me God, I’ll blue ball us both.”

“Guess I won't say it. But you can't stop me thinking it.”

“We’re almost forty, John.”

“You do know sex doesn't stop then, right? In fact, it's been my experience that-”

As John had planned, Chas stops him with a kiss. Chas is going for sweet, almost chaste, but John’s too worked up to want that. He sucks on Chas’ tongue and moans into his mouth, and finally, Chas gets the message and yanks John’s trousers down, dragging his pants with them.

Maybe he isn't the sharpest of men, is Chas, but he’ll get there in the end.

Like Old Faithful- and there's a visual metaphor Chas will roll his eyes at later when John tells him.

If John remembers to.

Chas is moving back, keeping John in place with a hand on his belly, and there's that look in his eyes he gets when he's about to follow John into the dark.

Without Chas’ body against his, John feels the cold rush in, but he forgets it a moment later when Chas runs his tongue over the tip of John’s cock. His eyes fall half shut as he does, and John has to push himself up on his elbows to see better.

Chas doesn't comment. Doesn't wink or smile or do anything to acknowledge that John is watching him beyond looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

Something in John tells him to talk as Chas wraps one giant hand around John’s cock and guides it into his mouth. It tells him to run his mouth. Tell Chas he's good at this. Ask him how he's still good at this. Was he misappropriating his missus’ toys? Or was Renee in on it? Was it always her he thought about, or did his mind wander?

They're cruel questions, questions that would make Chas’ face burn and stop things dead, but they're also genuine.

Did Chas decide John was a youthful indiscretion as easily as John made him think he was?

Biting his tongue, John doesn't say anything. He watches Chas and lets him bob his head and swallow John down without comment. There's no hurry to Chas’ movements; even when he takes John in all the way and his face is buried in John’s pelvis, he lingers, swallowing around John’s cock and breathing through his nose like he does this all the time.

Like it's just that easy for him, taking John in that deep.

(It's not that easy, though. It's not something people are just born able to do. You need to practice. You need to get through the discomfort.

But maybe Chas wasn't kidding when he said he didn't have a gag reflex.

Maybe he really was just made to take.)

The pace begins to grate after a while, though. The novelty of going slowly has worn off, and John-

John can't be sure this isn’t a one-off thing. If it is, he needs it to stay with him for as long as possible. With Chas fucking him off the table, that leaves bruises. Nothing else will last long enough.

Chas pauses when John gently tugs on his hair. His expression shifts from lazy to curious.

There's no good way to tell Chas that John wants him to get rough. Rough is something Chas does when he isn't thinking. Saying it outright just makes him dig in his heels or, worse, _try_.

Chas trying to be rough is one of the most unarousing things John has ever witnessed. It's like watching a cat submit to a bath. All grimaces and earnest looks like, _Is this what you want? Is this the correct way to do this weird thing I don't understand? Is it done yet?_

For a bloke John would happily blow when he's covered in dirt and grime and monster blood, Chas is frighteningly unsexy when he's thinking.

So instead of flat out telling Chas what he wants, John gives his hair another, firmer tug.

When Chas elects to resume swallowing John’s dick, John pushes his hips up to meet him.

Provided Chas hasn't changed too much since his early twenties, one of two things will happen:

Chas will get annoyed and pull off to yell at John. His mouth now free, John will be be able to kiss him and make use of that annoyance to get Chas to manhandle him.

Or Chas will get so annoyed he’ll pull of and call the whole thing off.

They're not great odds, but John already did what he did, so now he's just got to see what Chas does.

The first thing he does is pull all the way off, his expression souring. Then, leaving John’s dick very exposed to the very cold air, he sighs and straightens up until he's kneeling.

Even in the weak light, John has no problem making out the outline of Chas’ cock. He really should have fought harder to get his mouth on it.

“You're an ass,” Chas says, his voice rough from John’s dick, drawing John’s eyes up to his face. “I know what you're doing, and I shouldn't go along with it. I know I shouldn't. But I'm no good at telling you no, least of all when we want the same thing.”

And with that ringing endorsement, he unbuckles his belt, slips it out of the loops, and pushes his jeans and pants down.

 _Hello again_ , John thinks. He definitely hadn't misremembered the size of Chas’ cock. It’s just as thick and long as it was the last time John saw it. That time, Chas had John in a hotel in Newcastle.

If John had known then how long he'd go without it, he might have done more than appreciated it as a brief stretch of time when he didn't feel empty.

The feeling of Chas’ body moving against him startles John out of his thoughts. He's as big and warm as John remembers, but there's none of the awkward fumbling John, despite himself, found endearing. Chas’ grip is sure as he takes John’s cock and his own in hand.

Just the feeling of being held like that is good, but John stops Chas before he can get going.

“Your hand’s a bit dry,” he points out.

“Not a lot I can do about that, John.”

“That's not quite true, but I'll give you a pass if you give me your hand.”

Even annoyed, Chas is still Chas, so he gives John his hand.

He figures out what John is going to do a moment before John does it; John can see the realization shift his features.

Chas does have a lovely face, especially when he's concentrating like he is now. John happily looks back at him as he takes Chas’ fingers into his mouth. One by one, he takes them in and runs his tongue over them, more interested in getting Chas’ hand wet than showing off.

“God,” Chas breathes when John finishes.

“Not quite,” John replies. “I'm far more fun.”

That gets him a smile and a shake of Chas’ head. “You realize that being likable when I'm trying to be angry at you so you can have the fuck you want is counterproductive, right?”

John shrugs. “I’m an enigma.”

“You're something, all right.”

That's probably a criticism. John doesn't particularly care, though. He runs his tongue over Chas’ palm and tries not to smile when Chas’ hips give an aborted thrust. Chas always did have sensitive palms; John remembers more than one of Chas’ dates laughing about it. Big, tough-looking Chas and his ticklish hands.

An unwarranted flare of jealousy bursts in John’s gut at the thought. He's never cared for any of the people Chas has dated, both because Chas has dated people who didn't appreciate him and because John is a greedy bastard who doesn't like sharing his friends.

“Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?” John asks.

“You're frowning at me,” Chas grumbles. He pulls his spit-slick hand away but lets it hang in the air.

The problem with fucking someone who knows you as well as Chas knows John is they can tell your expressions apart. Chas knows what it looks like when John is thinking hard and when he's concentrating on fucking.

“Just caught up in a memory, mate,” John tells him. “Not frownin’ at you at all.”

It's not a lie, and Chas must see that, because he nods and, finally, closes his hand around them again.

John guides Chas’ head in for a kiss as Chas begins to stroke. He means it to be soft, but Chas licks into his mouth. He's pushy about it, too, and John can't help but moan into his mouth.

Chas’ hand moves faster.

John keeps his hand on the back of Chas’ head, holding him in place so he doesn't get it in his head that John is done kissing him, while the other moves down Chas’ body until John can get a handful of his arse.

Chas’ hips twitch forward, driving John into the hard floor.

John gives him a second squeeze, and Chas obligingly responds in kind. The hand not stroking them is fixed to John’s hip, fingers digging in when John flexes his own hand.

 _That's gonna bruise_ , John thinks.

Above him, Chas is breathing hard, which isn't surprising considering John's doing the same, but Chas is also looking down at John with an expression John can't place.

Chas is no model; he'd be the first to say so. But he's got the kind of face you want to look at- and John ought to know. He's been looking at it for more than ten years. So he knows Chas’ expressions better than anyone. He's memorized every expression down to the smallest twitch and what they mean.

But this is new.

John doesn't mean to touch Chas’ face. He doesn't even realize he's reaching up until he sees his own hand cup Chas’ jaw.

Chas closes his eyes, his head tilting into John’s hand.

That's a sight John could see the point in immortalizing. Take a photo, paint a picture- doesn't matter, so long as he can keep the way Chas is looking at him now. Save it so it can't be ravaged by time or John’s own mind.

Save it so John can look at it after Chas is gone and know he didn't make it up.

As if he knows what John is thinking, Chas bends down and kisses him hard. John keeps him there, sliding the hand on Chas’ face back until John’s got a firm hold on the back of his head. Chas doesn’t fight against it; if anything, he kisses John even harder, digs his fingers deeper into John’s hip.

Chas has never been the one who runs off, though, has he?

That's what John does.

He isn't running now, though. He's flat on his back in a frigid cave in the middle of nowhere, sucking on his best mate’s tongue, and this is exactly where John wants to be. He can feel Chas’ cock against his, wet with John’s spit and Chas’, held together by Chas’s rough grip as he works them.

John can already see the bruises he’ll have on his hip.

Breaking a kiss, John asks, “You gonna get us off anytime soon, love?”

Chas does a little twist with his wrist, dragging his palm over the tip of John’s cock, and John has to fight not to come just like that.

He's always had a thing for how big Chas is. Big hands, big chest, big shoulders… Chas is a lot of bloke. John isn't a small man, but he's got nothing on Chas.

And isn't that the real trip? All that power Chas has, but John gets to tell him how to use it.

The next time Chas guides his back hand up, he does the twist again. He doesn't say anything this time, either, but John can feel his hips rocking. He's getting close, too.

And just like that, it becomes suddenly very important that John be able to see Chas’ face.

He tugs on Chas’ hair until Chas sits up, John’s hand slipping free as he does.

Before Chas can ask what's going on or sorry that he's done something wrong, John rucks up his shirt.

Chas- who's a bloody genius, getting what John’s after without John having to spell it out- pumps his hand faster, worker them harder still. As much as John wants to preserve the memory of how his cock looks in Chas’ hand, his attention is focused on Chas’ face.

He won't forget this time.

Chas’ eyes are squeezed shut, and in the harsh light from the phone, he looks haunted, more pained than pleased. But he's breathing fast and shallow, and that's not how he breathes when he's in pain.

Lifting his hands, John settles them on Chas’ hips. “C’mon, Chas,” he says. “I've got you. Just let go. All you gotta do, yeah? Just let go.”

Chas keeps his eyes shut when he comes, and John is disappointed to discover Chas doesn't make as much noise as he used to. But he does let out half a shout, which echoes in the cave.

And he does come on John.

Which is why John himself comes a moment later. He closes his eyes, too, and lets Chas stroke him until it's too much.

John opens his eyes to say as much, but Chas isn't looking at him. He's looking at the mess on John’s belly.

And that's when John fucks it all up.

 

_**xx** _

 

John tugs his shirt down before Chas can even think to offer to clean him up.

He's looking at Chas like he's preparing for a fight, his eyes narrowed and his hands clenched. Chas doesn't want one. He isn't even all that sure why John thinks he would. No sense in asking about that, though. John himself probably doesn't know.

So Chas contents himself with smoothing his hand the down the front of John’s shirt, letting it linger low on John’s belly.

“You're gonna wish you hadn't done that, you know,” he says slowly.

John shrugs without losing an ounce of tension. “Just a bit of come, mate. You and I both know how to clean that up.”

The truth is closer to “John knows how to get Chas to do his laundry for him”, but now isn't the time for that.

“Is it?” Chas asks.

“Unless you've started shooting out something else and didn't tell me-”

Sometimes, Chas has to wonder if he shouldn't just let the demons have John. He’d probably torture them more than they'd torture him. He doesn't say that, though. He knows when he's being baited, and this is a Constantine classic.

“Is that all it is, John?”

For once, John doesn't have a snappy comeback. He just stares up at Chas, eyes flicking over his face. Chas doesn't know what to give him to get John to be honest. That's all Chas wants from him. If that really was just a lay for John, then that's what it was, and Chas can let it be. But if this is John wanting more, then the two of them have some talking to do.

It's an easy, two way choice. Chas won't even call John on it if he lies. He just wants John to tell him where to go from here. But John wouldn't be John if he didn't try to wriggle out of it.

“Tell you what, mate,” he says, going for smarmy but landing closer to panicked. “Why don't we just call it a night? I'll light up, and you can do whatever you-”

“Not two minutes ago, I watched you yank your shirt down so I couldn't wipe come off your gut,” Chas interrupts sharply. “That's odd even for you. So I’m asking you: should I read into that, or do I add it to the list of your godawful quirks?”

John glares at him, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he says, “You know bloody well it's not just a quirk.”

“It did seem unlikely.”

“So why ask?”

“Figured I'd let you decide how we go forward.”

There's a moment as John looks up at him that Chas starts to think John might actually open up for once. That being alone in his head with all the mess up there might have finally become untenable. But then John gives him a crooked smile, and Chas knows that's not going to happen.

“We both know I'm gonna take a pass on telling, then, don't we?”

Chas nods. “That we do.”

John must be in an odd kind of mood, though, because no sooner has Chas finished speaking than John is tugging at him.

“What are you doing?” Chas groans. “John, I'm tired-”

“I can see that, thanks,” John says irritably. “I was there when you came, Chas. That’s why I'm trying to get you to lie down, you wanker.”

This isn't the worst way John has asked Chas to stay with him. It's not even the most roundabout.

Chas does as John wants and lets himself be pulled back down onto John. It takes some adjusting to get themselves arranged so nothing sharp is digging into anything soft, but once they figure it out, Chas could swear he's never been more comfortable.

John being John, he promptly reaches for Chas’ phone and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't say anything to Chas about it, doesn't ask or double check that he's allowed. He just picks it up, enters the password that Chas definitely never told him, and starts tapping away.

There's no way of knowing what he's doing or what he wants, and Chas knows better than to ask. Rather than risk being told John’s after naked pictures of Renee- an actual answer John gave once- Chas lets his mind wander to other things.

As usual, his mind quickly finds its way back to John.

There aren't a lot of people who tell you they care about you by stealing your phone and ignoring you while they go through it.

John has a complicated, backwards way of loving, but Chas can't fault him for it. He's seen the foundation John’s father laid into John’s skin, and he knows that John, like any child, could only build on what he was given. For all the hell Thomas Constantine heaped on his son and all the shitty ways John learned to deal with that, John still grew into a good man.

He isn't stable, and he’s done too much shit- been too much of a shit- to be mistaken for a saint, but he's trying.

That makes him good enough in Chas’ eyes.

 

_**xx** _

 

John is in the middle of a word search on Chas’ phone- all the good apps need internet, apparently, and no one’s set that up out here- when Zed and that cop of hers materialize. Chas himself hasn't moved in about twenty minutes. He's still lying in the same position he was in when he collapsed earlier, but John pulled his trousers up to cover his arse, so there's really no call for Zed and her friend to be looking at them like that.

Zed especially. She's probably seen Chas on his way back from the shower at some point, and she's certainly seen John starkers.

“Come to rescue us, have you?” John asks sweetly.

Zed wrinkles her nose. “It only took us a few hours,” she says. The implication- _how did you get Chas to do something so stupid so fast_ \- isn't worth acknowledging, so John ignores it.

“Funny,” he says, “seeing as we could say the same. He's a man of stamina, our Chas.”

It's a cheap joke- and one Chas probably won't be too thrilled with when Zed tattles about it- but John is feeling prickly. He never got to have Chas when he was spent and cuddly in the past- well, he never let himself have Chas like that, more like. Too risky that he'd like it and get used to it.

He couldn't be sure Chas would want that, now could he?

So this was his one chance to find out what it's like to run his fingers through Chas’ hair and trace the muscles in his back as Chas drools on his shoulder. To feel Chas’ breath on his neck and hear the little grumbles Chas makes when he's reluctantly starting to wake up.

The downside of being a night person with an early bird for a best mate, John supposes.

Unaware of what he's costing John, the cop- Corrigan, the one Zed’s fretting over her vision of- shakes his head. He's a bit of a stick in the mud, but that's typical for his profession. “We’ve got the right ingredients to cast the spell to get us all back.”

“Wonderful. I'll just wake Chas up, then, shall I?”

And there, in the corners of Zed’s lips, is John’s means of prolonging things.

Unfortunately for her, Zed is like Chas but kinder. She knows how hard Chas works and how little he gets to sleep. She likes him on top of that, thinks he's a big, cuddly teddy bear for her to hug and kiss on the forehead.

And why shouldn't she? Chas adores her.

John has found the two of them in the kitchen at all sorts of hours. Usually Zed will be sitting on the counter with a plate in her hands, or she’ll be sitting there watching Chas cook, but recently, John has caught Chas teaching her some things. Not big things- the kitchen is his domain- but quick tips and tricks.

He's become something of a surrogate father to her, if John had to guess. Of course he has. Chas loves being a dad, has done since he found out he was going to be one. If it weren't for John, Geraldine would probably be desperate for an escape from Chas’ doting, rather than hoping he’ll show for her birthday.

(In Chas’ defense, he's only missed one birthday, and that was because he was dead. Which was probably John’s fault, but he did try to tell Chas that the salamander in the special cage was the fire breathing sort. And John couldn't very well tell a five year old her dad missed her party because he’d been burned to death, now could he? At least John called to say Chas wouldn't be making it, not that Chas and his week long cold shoulder acknowledged that.)

Zed must have sensed Chas’ paternal frustration- not that it would have been difficult. He's not a subtle one, Chas.

So they're a daughter without a father and a father without a daughter. It's no wonder the two of them have cobbled together the weird relationship they have.

She knows John is banking on her affection for Chas to work in his favor, of course. The only question is if she’ll punish Chas to get at John.

“There's nothing we can't grab back at the Mill House, right?” she asks without looking away from John. “To do the spell twice more?”

Corrigan sighs. “Zed-”

“Chas is a good man. He deserves his rest.” She narrows her eyes at John, who gives her his brightest smile.

“We’ll be back in half an hour,” Corrigan says flatly. “Don't die, Constantine. I still need you to make sense of that spell.”

John gives him a lazy salute, and a moment and some dangerously articulated Ancient Hebrew later, Zed and Corrigan disappear.

The spell doesn't leave residue, exactly, but John can feel the resonance of it, which his brain has opted to interpret as a headache.

“You're a dick,” Chas says mildly.

“Got us another half an hour, though, didn't I?”

Chas hums, which could be simple acknowledgement or encouragement. He doesn't elaborate on it, just wriggles a little, making himself more comfortable at John’s expense, so John decides he ought to take the hum as encouragement.

That's for later, though. For now, John is more interested in the rasp of Chas’ beard against against his skin as Chas kisses up his neck. There isn’t time to take those kisses where John wants them to go, but Chas isn’t going anywhere without him anytime soon.

Smiling to himself, John drops the phone and wraps his arms around Chas. Losing Chas is going to be a kick in the bollocks no matter what; John may as well get the most out of him while he can.


End file.
